Well over 600,000 U.S. military members have died in combat. That’s not including those killed by friendly fire, those missing in action, or those so mentally scarred from battle, they saw no hope but to end their own lives. Add in those souls and the number soars to the millions.

That’s millions of men and women–some, no more than children–who paid the highest price.

Let’s just live in peace, we say. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Alas, there has been and always will be bullies. Which means there has been and always will be those who must stand up to them.

So as we head into a three day weekend, let’s not forget the true meaning of Memorial Day: to remember those who gave their lives, on behalf of us all . . . and those they left behind.

Not that we can’t enjoy the sun on our faces, good food, and the company of those we love, mind you. As a matter of fact, any decent memorial requires such. But amidst our living, let us remember the sacrifice–and be grateful.

If you’re lucky, you might catch sight of an appendage–maybe even a partial profile. But more oft than not, she’s the one hanging out behind the camera, making goofy faces and otherwise attempting to make us smile.

Yet even when she’s nowhere to be seen, you know she’s there.

That’s what makes a good mama so great. No matter the years, or miles between you, she’s the one you can count on: to make you laugh and hold you up, to offer advice and cheer you on.

So to all you mamas out there (mine especially), a happy Mother’s Day; to all you missing your mamas, grace; to all you missing a child, peace; and to us all, a weekend filled with love . . .

The week began as a celebration. Their King, the chosen one of Israel, had arrived to make all wrongs right. They laid a path of palm branches before him; they laughed, and danced, and sang.

Then Friday arrived.

Suddenly, their savior seemed nothing of the sort. Arrested, taking the place of a vicious criminal, he was mocked and scorned; scourged and crowned with thorns. He made no attempt to fight back. They watched in horror as he struggled to carry a wooden cross to Golgotha, Skull Hill . . . as the soldiers hammered nails into his hands . . . as the cross was put in the ground . . .

To those who had believed in his physical power, it was humiliating; to those who had walked with him–who loved him as a son and brother, friend and mentor–it was heartbreaking. The boy they watched grow up; the teenager they watched learn his father’s trade; the man they watched heal the sick, feed the hungry, love the unlovable was being tortured right before their eyes. And there was not a thing they could do about it.

When he spoke out in pain and anguish, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?”–“My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?”–it was nearly more than they could bare.

When he said, “It is finished” no doubt they thought he meant their hope.

Good Friday.

We tend to gloss right over the fact that it was a dreadful day, full of unspeakable misery and despair. It’s only good because of what happened on the third day. On the third day, that borrowed tomb was empty. Death no longer held sway.

Because of that fact, no matter how dark the day, how hopeless the situation, there is, indeed, hope.

You may have heard: Canada’s Musée de la civilisation is on the lookout for doppelgängers of sixty or so of their 2,000-year-old sculptures. Submit your photo; face recognition software will scan your features, compare with their database of images, and tell you the sculpture you most resemble.

Such brilliant, nerdly fun!

Naturally, I had to give it a try. My match {drumroll, please} ………………. Hercules.

That’s right, I most resemble the son of Zeus and Alcmene. Years ago, when a friend noted I’m more of a classic beauty, this was not what I had in mind. Sigh. At least he’s an adventurous sort of fellow. Had I been the twin of a tedious man, it may have been more than I could bear.

But I digress . . .

With that, I wish you a good weekend. May your days be full of adventure and your exploits, the stuff of legend.

If you’ve paid no heed to the calendar, the subject line and image of this post may serve something of a spoiler: today is St. Patrick’s Day (corned beef and cabbage + Irish soda bread I’m coming for you).

Perhaps it anticipation of the festivities, but I spent an inordinate amount of time this week being thankful for little bits of “luck” . . .

My brother and sister-in-law are getting back into drawing and painting . . . which means here and there I receive a text with wonderful works of art.

My brother and sister-in-law, nephew and niece, may very well be coming for a visit this summer. Shenanigans are sure to ensue.

I’ve read some delightful books this year (and yes, I shall expound in the weeks ahead). This may seem a bit odd, seeing how I read all the time; but I seemed to have suffered a bit of a dry spell. Every book read was something of a drudge; I had to force myself to slodge through to the final page. I’d almost forgotten how lovely it is to get lost in a good book.

Pancakes & French Fries is back. I happened upon this blog through a comment, back in the day; it’s been a favorite ever since. It’s what I love about blogging: good people, telling good stories. (PS A Miusmie and Mrs. Smythe, please don’t stop; because then I’ll be forced to write a post about things that bring despair.)

Spring! It rained all night, into the morning yesterday, resulting in the most brilliant, double rainbow. I happened to be in a meeting when I caught sight of it; I gasped mid-sentence and pointed out the window. It led to many a nose plastered against glass; many attempts at a photo. Truly, it was nothing short of spectacular . . . as if God himself came down and said, “Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay.”

Lucky, indeed.

With that, I wish you days of good cheer. May joy and peace surround you, contentment latch your door, and happiness be with you now and bless you evermore!

Greetings & salutations

Just in case you're wondering what you've gotten yourself into, my blog's a lot like life: it's a hodge-podge. So pour yourself a steaming cup of goodness, settle in, and I'll tell you all about it--whatever 'it' happens to be . . .

The fine print

Magpie & Muttonfly is the place where I write about all the things that make our stories grand. Emphasis on me, myself, and I. Any review or recommendation posted on this site is solely my own {unless otherwise noted}. Occasionally you will find a link to Amazon.com. An eternal window shopper, I only list items that strike my fancy. Any time you click the link and proceed to make a purchase, I get a wee referral fee. You will not be charged more--but once or twice a year I earn enough to purchase a tin of my favorite tea. So I do thank you for that!